Half a month slowly dragged by in that oppressive atmosphere.
The First Division issued no orders for anyone's arrest. In response to the seizure of power in the Eleventh Division, Genryūsai Shigekuni Yamamoto chose the most chilling course of action: silence.
That silence weighed like an enormous stone on Central 46. After their initial fury, the sages in the underground assembly hall gradually quieted down. Without the First Division's support, they dared not send a second contingent of the Punishment Force to the Eleventh Division.
At that moment, Seireitei's political machinery ground to a strange halt. No one wanted to be the first to push the gears.
Yet at the Eleventh Division Barracks, in the eye of the storm, life returned to normal in an utterly absurd fashion.
For these desperadoes accustomed to speaking with their swords, a transfer of power required no paperwork. They only needed to watch their former leader's blood seep into the floor. Since Central 46 had failed to take Murata away, and the Commander-in-Chief had not unleashed his wrath, the man wearing that white haori was the Eleventh Division's new king.
The training ground in the front courtyard still rang daily with bamboo swords cutting through the air and the dull thuds of bodies hitting the ground. The squad members began to accept Murata's presence. Some even stopped when they encountered him in the corridor, bowing their heads and stepping aside.
They had assumed Murata would be like every Kenpachi before him: a crude, unrestrained battle maniac who scoffed at every rule.
But they were wrong.
The Eleventh Division gradually discovered that their new captain was nothing like they had imagined.
Autumn rain fell endlessly over Seireitei.
Over those two weeks, fresh official documents piled up on Central 46's desks. The summons for the